


lay down your weary head

by farfarawaygirl



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: 9x01, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27521449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfarawaygirl/pseuds/farfarawaygirl
Summary: 9x01 - an interludeThe pillow smells like Sylvie.Her green tea shampoo, the soft floral scent of her perfume and the laundry detergent she uses.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 32
Kudos: 143





	lay down your weary head

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I didn’t edit or reread, because that is very on brand for me.
> 
> I liked 9x01 🤷🏻♀️

The pillow smells like Sylvie. 

Her green tea shampoo, the soft floral scent of her perfume and the laundry detergent she uses. 

Matt’s been here four times before. 

1\. Helping her move in  
2\. When she needed help hanging shelves  
3\. In September when they eased up on restrictions and she made dinner for him, Kidd and Severide  
4\. And now, sleeping on her couch, with her bedroom door open not even twenty feet away

This is a new version of torture. And he’s a man well versed in torture. 

Honestly, it’s his own fault. Because he knew how he felt a year ago, and he chickened out, and then Julie died and he felt she needed time, and then basically the world went to hell in a hand basket. Maybe if he hadn’t waited. But it feels like nothing but bad timing. 

Sylvie had come out of her bedroom, in a pair of sleep shorts and a paint stained Molly’s t-shirt, holding a bundle of fabric. “I actually think the pants are yours.” She held out the CFD sweatpants with a bashful smile. They were his. 

“Thanks.”

“Sleep well, Matt.”

And then he was standing alone in her living room, holding his sweatpants. 

Matt had changed in the bathroom, folding his jeans and shirt and leaving them on the coffee table. He’d laid there, mostly unable to sleep, listening to Sylvie’s breathing and cursing the fact that he wasn’t in her bed. 

Just after five am she padded into the living room. 

“I can’t sleep.” Sylvie curled up in the arm chair near his head. 

“Same.” Matt twisted a little to look at her. She had pulled her hair off her face, and had slipped on a nubby, knit sweater, and a pair of Cindy Herrmann knit socks. 

“Can I make you breakfast?”

Matt sat up, and reached for his shirt, pulling it on, “yeah. Waffles?”

“Absolutely.”

Sylvie went off to the kitchen, turned on a Spotify playlist while she pulled out ingredients, and the whole time was aware that it would be as simple as reaching out and kissing her. He didn’t though. He sat at the table and laughed at her jokes, put out cutlery and poured coffee, and he didn’t kiss her. 

He should have. 

Because now, he’s sitting in the front of the Truck, Stella driving fast, and the report coming in that 61 has gone over a ledge.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a note, drop some knowledge!


End file.
